


play with fire till your fingers burn

by manybumblebees



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Getting Together, M/M, Philadelphia Flyers, come for the Soft Content stay for the Kevin Hayes character assassination, dumbasses to lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-16
Updated: 2019-09-16
Packaged: 2020-10-19 21:35:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20664155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manybumblebees/pseuds/manybumblebees
Summary: Nolan goes through his first NHL camp knowing three things about the guy in the next stall:1. He talks a lot.2. He likes to fish.3. The ducks in his tattoo are named after the Ninja Turtles.





	play with fire till your fingers burn

Nolan goes through his first NHL camp knowing three things about the guy in the next stall:

  1. He talks a lot.
  2. He likes to fish.
  3. The ducks in his tattoo are named after the Ninja Turtles.

The first two go together: he likes to talk, and he _really _likes to talk about fishing, which is cool with Nolan, because fishing rules, and this way, he doesn’t have to worry about making awkward small talk. The third only comes up once, after Nolan says “Nice ink” as the guy’s stripping out of his sweaty under armour, but it sticks in his mind for some reason, out of all the hundreds of new things he’s told that week and instantly forgets again.

Like the guy’s name, which Nolan can’t for the life of him remember without cheating off his nameplate. Right, Travis. TK. Two letters. How fucking hard can it be.

He meets like, sixty people that first week, too many names and nicknames to keep track of. So yeah, he forgets in the middle of a scrimmage, sees a mess of dark hair speeding off, finding a gap in coverage when Nolan has the puck. His mind is a screaming blank, so he shouts, “Michaelangelo, heads up.”

Ninja Turtle guy spots him and gets his stick on the ice, but the pass has too much on it and skitters over his blade, and the Czech dude with the bushy beard who looks like he eats babies for breakfast but who is actually like, a really nice guy poke-checks him before he can recover.

Turtle dude – TJ? – wedges himself in next to Nolan on the bench after their shift and elbows him just under his chest protector. “Whatta pass, prairie boy. Where were you aiming for, the moon? And obviously, I’m Raphael.”

“You wish, bud.”

Nolan feels a little better for the fact that the guy’s clearly forgotten his name, too.

*

They remember each other’s names eventually, not that they ever use them.

Nolan calls him _Teeks_, _Teeksy_, _Dumbass_. Calls him _Trevor _if he wants to piss him off, which is often. _Taz_, when he won’t sit still for a goddamn second, all restless energy in the corner of Nolan’s eye, which is even more often. He stole that one from Simmer, though.

The first time he calls him _Trav _is a few days after they start rooming together on the road, and Nolan wouldn’t even have noticed, except that TK stops what he’s doing, which is taking everything out of his suitcase and trying to cram it back in again around the big, tacky deer-antler coat rack he insisted on buying, even though he literally already has one at home.

“Trav, can this wait?” he says, exasperated, sticking his head over the edge of his bed. He’s had a round of _CoD _queued up for like, twenty minutes, which is eighteen minutes longer than TK claimed this would take.

TK, sitting on the floor of their hotel room still holding a balled-up pair of socks, stops dead. Nolan’s expecting him to argue that _actually, this coat rack is the greatest work of art Minnesota’s ever produced, so no, Patty, it _can’t _wait, and also can I put like seven pairs of my disgusting socks in your suitcase? _Just some real over-the-top TK shit.

Instead, TK sits back on his heels, looking weirdly deflated.

“My parents call me that,” he says, and gives Nolan the saddest little smile he’s ever fucking seen. Nolan didn’t know ‘homesick’ could be a facial expression. “Do you mind if I call them real quick?”

“Go ahead,” says Nolan. Like he’s gonna say no when TK’s face is doing _that_ and it’s lowkey his fault. Nolan backs out of the multiplayer screen and plays a couple of rounds of _Zombies_ by himself, on mute because he feels bad, while TK calls his mom and dad.

He isn’t trying to eavesdrop, but TK’s sitting like five feet away from him, so it’s hard not to. He’s a little different with them, a touch less manic, and he sounds even more country than he usually does, his voice stretching into a drawl as he talks about the goal he’d scored the night before.

Nolan gets up to dig his headphones out of his bag because it’s like, the polite thing to do. Behind him, he hears TK say, “Oh, I got a new roommate – Patty, say hey,” and then he’s shoving his phone in Nolan’s face.

“Uh, hey,” Nolan says, awkward as hell, just catches a woman’s voice saying _Nice to meet you _as TK pulls the phone back.

“Yeah,” TK says into his phone. “Yeah, he’s a really good guy.”

Nolan can feel his face go red. He ducks his head, busies himself putting his headphones in, and cranks up his music. He watches TK out of the corner of his eye, the way he curls in on himself and presses the phone to his ear like it’s gonna bring his parents closer. Probably doesn’t even realise he’s doing it.

He’s on the phone for ages, and he’s still a little off, after, quieter than Nolan’s used to, so Nolan lets him win at _CoD_ a few times and pretends to be real crabby about it, which seems to cheer him up.

Later, when they’ve turned the lights off to go to sleep, TK says, “It’s cool if you wanna call me Trav. I don’t mind.”

“Okay,” says Nolan, and thinks he probably won’t, after all that.

“I’m not gonna have a meltdown about it every time, promise.”

Nolan laughs. “Yeah, alright.”

Still, like. He’ll save it for special occasions.

*

Roadies all start to blur together by about December, just a string of late-night flights and interchangeable hotel rooms, and waking up wondering what city they’re even in. It might’ve been on the same trip, or else on the next one, that TK says, with no preamble, “You can suck my dick if you want.”

It’s like, two in the afternoon. They’re supposed to be napping before the game.

Nolan lifts his head to look at TK, stretched out on the other bed with his hands behind his head, casual.

“What makes you think I want to?”

TK shrugs. “Nothing, I’m just saying.” He rolls onto his side, flashes him a grin. “If you ever have any like, gay urges–”

Nolan throws a pillow at him, hits him right in the face.

TK just pulls it away, doesn’t seem at all bothered. “– don’t go to strangers, baby,” he croons, his hair mussed, laughing like crazy when Nolan throws another pillow.

There’s no reason why Nolan should be flushing – he’s not the one getting pelted with pillows – but he can feel his face heat, and now he’s out of pillows, so he hopes TK’s done.

“I’m keeping these,” TK announces, and starts building a nest.

“Teeks, I gotta sleep.”

“Should’ve thought of that sooner, bud.” TK smugly settles into his pillow pile and pulls the covers up to his ears.

“Fine,” Nolan says, and then “_Fine_,” again, but like, angry. He rolls out of bed and crosses the three feet to TK’s.

Pelting him with pillows and then crawling into his bed is probably like, sending mixed signals, or something, but he really does have to sleep, and TK’s clutching his pillows like this is a hill he’s willing to die on. Nolan makes a half-hearted attempt at wrestling them from him, but he’s a strong little fucker, and stubborn, so Nolan gives up and does the next best thing.

“Oof,” says TK as Nolan flops on top of him. Nolan makes no effort to avoid elbowing him as he’s getting settled, ends up with one arm thrown across TK and his face mashed into the pillows he’s still holding. It’s actually really comfortable. Warm.

“_Don’t go to strangers,” _he mumbles into the pillow before lifting his head. “What is that even from?”

“Oh, it’s a song. It’s really old.” TK squirms like he’s trying to wriggle out from under Nolan. “My arm’s gonna go to sleep.”

“Mmm,” Nolan says vaguely, already drifting off. “Should’ve thought of that sooner.”

*

He lives with Bobby in Voorhees that first year, but he still manages to spend all his time with TK. Carpools to the rink with him most days, though he’s not fooling himself that they’re saving the environment by TK driving his huge SUV – definitely overcompensating for something – twenty minutes out of his way just to pick him up.

He’s at TK’s place so much that some of his stuff starts to migrate there – hats, at first, then hoodies, an Xbox controller that isn’t janky. They do a whole song-and-dance a couple of times when they lose track of time playing _Fortnite,_ where Nolan says he’s gonna get an Uber, and TK offers him the couch, and Nolan pretends that wasn’t what he was angling for the whole time, but they stop bothering, after a while, and the couch becomes a standing invitation.

Eventually, Nolan buys a jar of peanut butter to keep in TK’s kitchen, stashes a couple of boxes of contacts and his road trip toothbrush in his bathroom. It’s just easier.

Nolan’s still sleeping under the one thin, shitty blanket TK owns that Nolan’s pretty sure he stole from the team plane when a cold snap turns into an arctic shitstorm and two feet of snow – though “sleeping” is a huge overstatement. When he barges into TK’s room to complain about it at two in the morning, blanket and all, TK grumbles something unintelligible, rolls over from where he was starfishing in the middle of the bed, and makes a vague arm motion at the now-empty space next to him. “Just get in.”

TK is like, crazy warm, and he only bitches a little when Nolan pushes his freezing feet under his legs. Nolan doesn’t wait for the invite the next time he stays over.

*

They’re nearing the end of the season when TK mentions that there’s a unit for rent in his building. He’s casual about it, which is suspicious, because TK isn’t casual about anything, but he just tacks it onto the end of an unrelated story about his neighbour getting a new dog.

“Oh, is there,” Nolan says, with no inflection.

TK’s eyes flit across his face like he’s gonna be able to tell what Nolan’s thinking. Good luck.

“Yeah, I have the realtor’s number somewhere if you’re interested? It’s two floors up, pretty much the same as mine so you know what you’re getting,” he rambles excitedly, and must realise he’s blowing his cover, because he stops talking abruptly, shrugs. “Unless you wanna stay in Jersey, I guess. It’s closer to the SkateZone.”

Nolan’s not gonna live in Jersey next season. He barely even lives in Jersey _now_, he just pays rent and gets passive aggressive texts from Bobby about the broadband bill.

He calls the number the minute he leaves TK’s apartment. He pretends to think about it for a full week after he signs the lease, because it’s funny watching TK try to act like this isn’t the only thing he cares about right now. When he finally tells him, he can’t keep the grin off his face, and TK says “_Dude_,” with more feeling than anyone’s ever packed into a single word, and punches him in the arm.

He calls him _Neighbour _with a big, goofy smile for like, the next month.

*

Nolan’s not a morning person at all, so it’s weird how, once he moves into TK’s building, that becomes his favourite time of day.

It’s always better when it’s just the two of them, when TK doesn’t have to work so hard to be the centre of attention, and one out of roughly every five times Nolan asks him to chill and shut up for a second, he actually will. He still talks a lot, in the mornings, but it’s like the volume is turned down, his voice a little gravelly with sleep.

TK drives, most days – music on low, talking about something just interesting enough that it isn’t pissing Nolan off, but not so interesting that he feels the need to stay awake for it, slumped against the window and drifting in and out until they get to the little coffee place near the rink that becomes their regular stop two weeks into the season, when Nolan has a near-religious experience over their cold brew.

TK always wakes him up a while before they get there, gently jostling his knee, so he isn’t too groggy when he goes in. TK drives, Nolan gets them coffee. Nolan gets to be in charge of the music in the car, and in return, he isn’t allowed to make fun of TK’s coffee order, no matter how many pumps of vanilla he asks for.

It’s four. Which is four too many, as far as Nolan is concerned.

One morning, the barista draws a heart on both the cups instead of writing his name, and Nolan doesn’t notice until he’s halfway to the car. He makes sure to turn the cup so the heart’s facing TK when he hands it to him, a teasing grin on his face.

“Aw,” says TK, and gives him a little smile.

“You deserve it, bro.”

TK’s usually pretty good at picking up on his sarcasm, but he misses it this time. He looks like, genuinely pleased, his smile widening until his eyes crinkle at the corners.

It’s early. Nolan’s just gonna let him have this one.

*

TK’s usually the one to remember what time practice is, so it’s weird when Nolan wakes up from the sun shining in his face instead of his phone ringing.

TK answers his facetime with no shirt on, mumbles “Overslept,” around the toothbrush in his mouth, pulls it out to spit. “Let yourself in, I’ll be two minutes.”

He still hasn’t got a shirt on by the time Nolan gets down there and finds him half under his bed in just his boxers, yelling about having lost his shoes.

It’s fully ten minutes later before he emerges from his bedroom, still with no fucking shirt on, turning a hoodie the right way out before pulling it over his head. Nolan gets a good view of the ducks on his arm, and the thing about the Ninja Turtles pops into his mind suddenly, for no reason.

Fucking stupid, really. Nolan doesn’t have a clue why he’s remembered that for two whole years.

“Have you seen my keys?” says TK, rushing past him. His hair’s a mess, and there’s toothpaste in his moustache.

They’re not gonna have time to stop for coffee at this rate, and Nolan’s not looking forward to having to drink the shitty instant sludge at the practice rink, so he should probably be helping. They’re late. It’s definitely not funny. Except that TK’s keys are like, right there on the coffee table, not even underneath anything.

It’s a little bit funny. He’ll tell him in a minute.

TK brushes past him again, all manic energy, and Nolan grabs him by the sleeve of his sweater, this time. It’s a hoodie that’s way too big for him, falling over his wrists. It looks familiar, and not in the way that TK has like, three outfits that he cycles through.

“That’s mine.”

TK stops in front of him, looking harried, and of all things, vaguely guilty. “Yeah, well– that’s what you get for leaving your shit all over my place.”

Nolan shrugs. “It suits you.”

It doesn’t, really. He looks like a little kid in hand-me-downs, but Nolan’s weirdly soft about it, and TK’s face does a whole thing, so fuck it, he’s sticking with that.

“Fine, then keep leaving your shit all over my place, I guess,” says TK, and bats Nolan’s hand away from his sleeve. Nolan’s sleeve. Whatever. He darts off check under the piles of mail on his kitchen table for his keys.

“Hey, Michaelangelo, heads up,” says Nolan, snatching them off the table and throwing them underhanded at TK, who turns just in time for them to hit him in the chest.

“Did you have those the whole time?”

“Yeah, bro, I love being late for practice. Let’s go.”

TK only breaks like, five traffic laws getting out of the city, but they make up enough time that they won’t be late as long as they skip the coffee, and Nolan can get a little nap in, even if he can’t get his cold brew, so they’re alright.

Except that his brain is stuck on this one, totally irrelevant thing.

“Hey, what’s the fourth Ninja Turtle called,” he asks as they’re coming off the bridge.

Michaelangelo, Leonardo, Raphael, and– it’s on the tip of his fucking tongue, it’s driving him nuts.

“Donatello,” TK says without hesitation.

“Right.”

Now he can sleep. He slouches down further in his seat, leans his head against the window. Of course, TK starts talking the second he closes his eyes.

“That’s the first time I made you laugh,” he says. “At camp.”

Nolan sighs. It’s too early to argue about this – he hasn’t even had coffee – but he can’t just let TK be wrong and get away with it. He’s gonna get ideas.

“It’s not,” he says with his eyes still closed. “I didn’t laugh.”

“You were trying not to laugh,” TK insists.

“Doesn’t count.”

He opens his eyes then, but only to glare at TK. Nolan’s sunk so low in the seat that he actually has to look up at him, for once. He’s still wearing Nolan’s hoodie.

TK doesn’t immediately argue, so Nolan settles back in for his nap, his arms crossed in front of him.

He doesn’t actually remember the first time TK made him laugh.

Okay, that’s a lie. It was the Ninja Turtle thing. Who gets a tattoo of ducks and names them after turtles? Still kills him, to this day. Dude thinks he’s _Raphael_. There’s a smile tugging at Nolan’s mouth that he tries his best to hold back. Just ‘cause TK’s supposed to be focusing on the road doesn’t mean he isn’t looking at him, and he’s gonna be insufferable forever if he finds out Nolan finds the turtle thing a little, like, endearing.

The first time TK made him laugh for real, though – laugh until there were tears running down his face and his stomach hurt and he thought he’d never be able to stop – was like a week later. Nolan doesn’t have a clue now what was so funny – something about Hakstol, probably – but he remembers the look on TK’s face, like he was just so fucking happy he’d done that. Like, proud. Like Nolan laughing was something precious he’d been given. He still looks like that every time.

“It counts,” TK says a while later, stubbornly, so quiet Nolan almost misses it.

*

TK calls him _Patty_, _Pats_, _prairie boy_. He calls him _Dickhead_, but usually like, fondly. He calls him “baby” more than Nolan thinks is really necessary, but mostly at the rink, when he’s hyped up on a game’s worth of adrenaline.

He calls him _babe _one morning, clearly by accident, some long-buried reflex from an old relationship. Nolan’s handing him his coffee in the car and he just goes, “Thanks, babe.”

Nolan would think he was joking, but TK immediately looks embarrassed about it, which is kind of a weird look for him.

Nolan grins. “Anytime, honey.”

TK laughs, at that, a little sheepish, and puts the car in gear.

When Nolan gets their coffee the next morning, he has the barista write _Honey _on the cup, just to see his face. It’s 100% worth it.

It kind of becomes a thing, after that.

*

They’re at a bar, a real grungy dive type of place where no one gives a shit who they are – the kind of place they can go to now that Nolan’s 21, which is cool. Most of the guys have fucked off home to their wives and girlfriends, which is less cool, because now all they have left for entertainment is watching Hayesy strike out with every girl in here.

Still, Nolan’s got beer and he’s got TK, and that’s all he really needs to have a good time. That, and TK coming up with ways to torture Hayesy. It’s a miracle he hasn’t gotten a drink thrown in his face yet. That goes for either of them.

TK’s rubbing a hand through his patchy facial hair. He’s thinking hard. Nolan can hear the gears grinding.

“Okay, we gotta go big here. What’s the worst pickup line you’ve ever heard?”

“Oh boy,” Nolan says. He’s like, four beers in – they have a game tomorrow, but who’s gonna rat him out, TK? Fuckin’, “demolish a sharing platter of nachos by himself in the time it took Nolan to take a leak”, that TK? Yeah, he doesn’t think so. Point is, four is too many beers not to be honest. “I got a good one for you, you ready?”

“Yeah, hit me.”

It’s hard to keep a straight face long enough to get the words out. There’s a good chance this’ll end badly, but it’s too late, Nolan’s already committed.

“Hands down, gotta be– ‘You can suck my dick if you want, bro.’”

TK looks at him blankly for a second, like maybe he doesn’t remember, but then he shakes his head, his hair falling into his face. He gives Nolan a crooked smile. “Hey, that was heartfelt. That was from the heart.”

“Oh, from the _heart_?”

TK just grins, brightly, and jerks his head towards the bar. “D’you think he’d try it?”

“He’s coming to us for dating advice, he’s gotta be desperate.”

TK has his arm draped around the back of the booth, skin warm against the back of Nolan’s neck when he leans back into it.

“Hayesy! KEV!” TK bellows at top volume, right by Nolan’s ear. “C’mere a sec.”

“Dude, he’s gonna get smacked.”

“Yeah,” TK says, dreamily. He grins at Nolan again, a good-for-nothing grin, and knocks their knees together. “Make sure you get video.”

TK’s warm, and Nolan’s comfy, but he leans away to dig his phone out of his pocket, anyway, gets his camera ready. He can be comfy again later. They might never get another chance to see Hayesy get slapped by a girl.

“Offer’s still on the table, by the way,” says TK.

When Nolan looks up from his phone, he’s looking right at him, not laughing or anything. Nolan watches him take a long swig from his beer bottle, never breaking eye contact.

Nolan glances towards Hayesy, who’s stopped on the way to the booth to get another drink, then down at his phone again, where the camera is trying to focus on the condensation rings on the table. He tucks his hair behind his ear.

“It’s not like, a hard no,” he says, after a while.

It’s not something he spends a lot of time thinking about, but like. If he was gonna suck anyone’s dick. Easy choice.

He glances at TK, who’s giving him a look that makes Nolan want to take back what he said, or maybe take him back to his apartment. One of the two. He’s not sure which. Then TK snickers.

“Hard,” he says. “A _hard_ no. Get it?”

Nolan rolls his eyes. Dumbass. “Forget it, I take that back.”

TK tilts his head. “Nah, cat’s outta the bag, buddy.”

Kevin’s at their table, saying, “I don’t know boys, don’t seem like either of you have any game.”

“Dude, we’ve gotta good one for you. Classic. Tried and tested,” TK says, with that glint in his eyes that Hayesy hasn’t been here long enough to know not to trust. Under the table, he knocks his knee into Nolan’s again and leaves it there.

*

It’s weird how nothing changes, after that. They drive to the rink together, they get coffee, Nolan gets the barista to write something ridiculous on TK’s cup to make him smile. Nolan falls asleep, TK wakes him up. Skate. Nap. Dinner. Game. Do it all over again the next day.

Nothing really changes, except that during team meetings, sitting in the back when they dim the lights for a video, TK puts his hand on Nolan’s thigh and leaves it there. He does the same at team dinner.

The barista gives up on Nolan and just starts sliding him a sharpie, lets him write whatever on the cups.

He writes _Sunshine_, _Stud_, _Dreamboat_. He’ll admit _Sugar _was a mistake, because yeah, they just dump an asston of sugar in there, and really, he should’ve seen that coming. TK tells him so. _Pumpkin_, same story, but Nolan knows TK’s only grumbling for show that time. He’s seen him order pumpkin spice lattes on purpose.

The barista gives him a really weird look about the one labelled _Daddy_, but it makes TK laugh so hard he has to get out of the car to catch his breath, so Nolan stands by it.

_Cutie_. _Boo_. _Angel_, when he still has the imprint of Oshie’s teeth on his knuckles. _Sweetheart_. Nolan spends the whole ride over thinking them up. TK gives him a little smile every time.

“Thanks, babe.”

Nolan’s pretty obsessed with it.

*

The morning they leave for their California swing, TK’s dad calls to say his grandpa’s in the hospital. TK doesn’t say a word the whole way to Jersey, and Nolan spends so long thinking of what to write on his cup that the barista looks like she’s trying to murder him with her eyes. He gets out of the line and stands there tapping the sharpie on the counter, trying to come up with something good, something that’ll make him smile, until, finally, he writes _Raphael _in careful block letters. He tries to draw a little turtle head next to it, but it comes out looking more like a weird frog. It’s fine, Teeks’ll get it.

When he hands it to him in the car, TK stares at the cup for a long time, breathing slow and careful like he’s trying not to cry. So much for making him smile, Nolan thinks, reaching across the center console to put a hand on his knee.

He knows TK doesn’t really want to be here right now, that part of him wants to just keep driving until he hits Ontario. A part of Nolan thinks_ Fuck it, let’s go_, but he knows neither of them are gonna follow through.

“Do you want me to drive?”

TK looks up, blinks at him like he’d forgotten he was there. “Yeah,” he rasps. He unbuckles his seatbelt and gets out of the car without another word.

Nolan gets out, too, catches up to TK as he’s crossing to the passenger’s side, and pulls him in. Should’ve done this in the car, he thinks, too late, as he tucks TK under his chin, wraps his arms tightly around his shoulders. TK fists both his hands in Nolan’s hoodie and holds on.

“He’s gonna be alright.”

“Yeah.”

“He said he’s sticking around until you win the cup, right? So he’ll be around a while.”

TK laughs, a little shakily. He doesn’t move from where he’s hiding his face in Nolan’s chest.

If they were in the car, Nolan might’ve kissed the top of his head, but as it is, he thinks about it, then chickens out, just gives him a squeeze before TK pulls away. He doesn’t give TK any shit for how far he has to move the seat back just to stop his knees from hitting the steering wheel – he’s got enough going on.

His granddad pulls through, but TK sleeps in Nolan’s bed the whole trip, all the same.

*

They’re in Anaheim when Nolan goes down in the third, hits his head weird, and gets pulled by the spotter. He’s pretty sure he just tripped over his own feet and no one even touched him, but TK takes a two, a five, and a ten about it anyway. Nolan can hear him yelling in the tunnel, after, and the ref telling him to shut the fuck up or he’s getting a game, as Nolan’s counting backwards from a hundred for the trainer – which like, what makes them think he can do this when he’s not concussed, he’ll never know.

He’s fine. He’s back on the bench before the game ends. Coach chews TK out for putting them down a man near the end of a tight game and does it in front of everyone, which Nolan thinks is pretty unnecessary, not least because TK’s just going to hang his head and look sorry for five minutes just for show and do the same damn thing again next time. Just how he’s wired.

They go straight to the airport from the rink and onto the plane home, and Nolan’s grateful, settling into his window seat, pressing an ice pack to his head where he hit it. He feels closer to ninety than twenty, every muscle in his body aching, and he can’t wait for the lights to turn off so he can sleep.

He’s zoning out a little, so it takes him a while to notice that TK’s stopped by his row and is shrugging out of his suit jacket.

“Hey, dumbass,” Nolan says as he drops into the seat next to him. “Where’s Provy?”

TK shrugs. “I told him to get lost.”

Nolan lifts the ice pack to give him a look. Being mean to Provy is like kicking a puppy – dude is like, painfully nice. There’s no fun in it.

“I bribed him with jelly beans, alright? Quit glaring at me.”

Nolan twists in his seat to see Ivan sitting in TK’s usual spot, a big brick of a Russian novel in one hand and the other stuck in a huge bag of candy. He looks pretty happy, and TK looks pretty ready to dig his heels in on this, so Nolan cuts his losses and doesn’t argue.

TK pushes the armrest between them out of the way and scoots close enough that they’re pressed thigh to thigh, then drapes his suit jacket over their laps, arranging it carefully.

Nolan’s about to quip something about the mile high club and how now’s not the time, his head’s killing, but TK’s hand finds his under the jacket and he laces their fingers together, squeezes.

“You’re okay?” he says, quietly, his eyes big and concerned.

“Yeah, all good,” Nolan says, just as quiet.

TK lets out a breath. “You had me worried there, bud.”

“Oh, is that what that was?”

Nolan grins at him, and TK rolls his eyes, but he smiles, a soft little thing. There’s a cut above his lip from his fight, and Nolan’s suddenly grateful to have him there, warm and solid and gently stroking Nolan’s hand with his thumb.

There’s still guys milling in the aisle, putting their carry-ons away and getting settled for the flight.

Nolan waits until the lights go down for takeoff, and then he slouches down enough that he can rest his head on TK’s shoulder. He falls asleep like that, with TK still holding his hand, and wakes up hours later, still in the dark, one of the thin airplane blankets thrown over his legs. He lifts his head enough to stretch out the crick in his neck from being in the same position for so long and glances out the plane window. He can’t see shit, so they can’t be close.

TK squeezes his hand. “We’re not there yet, go back to sleep.”

Nolan looks over at him. He’s undone the top two buttons on his shirt and loosened his tie, and he’s scrolling through his phone left-handed, because his right hand’s still holding Nolan’s, and TK doesn’t sleep on planes. It’s quiet apart from the hum of the engines, the sound of Jakey snoring in the back, G and Raf talking quietly a few rows in front of them, shuffling cards. Across the aisle, Carter and Oskar are both passed out.

He blinks at TK, lit only by the blue glow of his phone screen. It picks out the bags under his eyes, the droop to his mouth. He’s gonna be dead on his feet by the time they land. Nolan’s gonna have to drive.

“Hey,” TK says, impossibly soft, one corner of his mouth curling up. He reaches out like he’s going to tuck Nolan’s hair back where it’s falling in his face, but changes his mind halfway and drops his hand back in his lap. Nolan wants to tell him it’s alright, no one’s awake enough to notice, and if they are they’re probably too tired to care.

He leans in and kisses him instead.

It’s not like, earth-shattering, or anything. Just a quick press of lips. TK’s mouth is surprisingly soft. His facial hair, unsurprisingly, isn’t. As he’s doing it, Nolan thinks he probably should’ve done this a while ago – last week, maybe last year – but it feels good to do it now. Feels right. The surprised little sound TK makes – Nolan’s pretty nuts about it.

TK pulls back first. “Really?” he murmurs. “Right _now_ is when you wanna fuckin’ do this?”

He shakes his head like _can you believe this guy_, way over the top, grinning the whole time. Nolan just laughs, puts his head back on his shoulder. He sleeps for the rest of the flight.

*

They’re not even out of the parking lot when TK passes out in the passenger’s seat. He just sits down, pulls the door shut, and falls asleep before he’s even plugged his phone into the aux. Nolan flicks through a few radio stations trying to find something inoffensive – there’s not a lot of traffic at this hour, so it’ll be a quick drive, but it’ll go by a lot quicker with music. He finds a station playing “Night Moves” and leaves it there, drives them home in the rain.

The song changes to something slower, jazzy, as Nolan pulls into their neighbourhood. He reaches over to put a hand on TK’s arm.

“Trav, we’re almost there, bud.”

TK jolts awake, scrubs at his eyes.

“Right,” he says, voice rough. He runs a hand through his hair. “Good song,” he says, after a while, and reaches to turn the radio up. He hums along, singing the odd word. Nolan’s about to roast him for not knowing any of the lyrics when he sings, under his breath, “_Don’t go to strangers, darling, come on to me._”

He’s out of tune, but Nolan lets him get away with it. Makes a mental note to Google the song when they’re home.

TK’s asleep on his feet when they get there, needs a nudge in the back to get off the elevator at his floor. Nolan follows him out out of habit. No need to discuss it.

TK spends so long trying to unlock his front door that Nolan’s ready to snatch the keys from his hand, put him out of his misery, when he finally gets it open. They drop their bags in a pile by the door, and Nolan’s about to beeline for TK’s fridge when TK comes to stand in front of him, slides a hand around the back of his neck to pull him down, and kisses him – a real kiss. There’s tongue and everything. Nolan’s stomach does a stupid little flip about it.

He’s like, 90% sure TK’s standing on his tiptoes for this, which he’s gonna chirp him about later.

TK nips at his mouth, then pulls back, suddenly sinking two inches. Definitely tiptoes.

“Fuck, I’m exhausted,” he says, and rests his head against Nolan’s chest. He leans most of his weight on him – kind of a lot of weight for someone his size, really. Gotta be the nachos. It’s gonna be lights out for him the second his head hits the pillow, always is when they fly places.

“We’ve got time,” Nolan says into his hair. His hands have come up to bracket TK’s hips, and he uses them to spin him around, nudge him towards the bedroom. TK goes, yawning.

“Good to be home, hey?”

**Author's Note:**

> fulfilling my life-long dream of [checks notes] referencing [Etta Jones](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Wwdeska8H-Y) and the Ninja Turtles in the same fic. yes, Simmer really did [call him Taz](https://eu.courierpostonline.com/story/sports/nhl/flyers/2016/11/29/travis-konecny-still-finding-right-demeanor-nhl/94632908/). cry with me about it on [tumblr](http://manybumblebees.tumblr.com).
> 
> thanks to [callabang](https://archiveofourown.org/users/callabang/pseuds/callabang) and eldy for betaing. podfic welcome, as long as it's archive-locked.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[podfic] play with fire till your fingers burn](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20700263) by [growlery](https://archiveofourown.org/users/growlery/pseuds/growlery)


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